


Another Man's Methods

by crookedneighbour



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, Mind Games, Misogyny, Other, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1929819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedneighbour/pseuds/crookedneighbour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramsay Snow marches alongside the Young Wolf, while his father holds the North. When Theon takes Winterfell, Robb sends Lord Bolton to deal with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Traitors

Ramsay moved swiftly to Robb's tent. It would have been his father's place to bring the Young Wolf his letters. Lady Catelyn and Lord Karstark had been against delegating such a task to a bastard, bus _his grace_ had spoken up on Ramsay's behalf.

_Jon Snow is my brother and a bastard. If we can trust a bastard to guard the Wall, I think a few letters will be fine._

His father's last letter had urged Ramsay to treat the king well, if only to his face. It grated on Ramsay to grovel and scrape, especially to some half Southron lordling, but his father had been right. Robb was eager to calm the history of bad blood between House Bolton and House Stark. He'd given Ramsay the benefit of the doubt when it came to certain rumors, even as he sported a black eye from Dacey Mormont.

"Your grace. News from my fathers men. Bad, I'm afraid."

Lady Catelyn stood behind her son in his tent. She made no effort to hide her displeasure with Ramsay's sudden appearance. Even in the pink and red of his father's house, she still spat on him. He looked forward to someday slitting her throat.

Robb on the other hand, forced a smile. He looked tired, his face and armor flecked with blood and dirt.

"Go on then..." he bid.

"Theon Greyjoy and a force of Ironborn have taken Winterfell. Burned, sacked and raped the lot," Ramsay rattled off, doing his best to sound sympathetic. He placed the letter on the table. "You can see for yourself."

Lady Cateyln's eyes first went wide with disbelief then narrowed with anger. Robb seemed to almost deflate.

"Why would Theon do this to me?" he mused.

"My father always said the Greyjoys are treasonous whores," Ramsay offered, trying not to smile. Catelyn paced behind him, her brow furrowed.

"My brothers?" asked Robb.

"Nothing. My father is hunting for them as we speak."

"I told you, never trust a Greyjoy," Catelyn interjected. Her voice was heavy with grief. The interruption left Robb silent. Ramsay could see he was almost shaking with rage. Robb rose suddenly.

"We're riding for Winterfell immediately."

Ramsay shook his head.

"And leave your sisters with the Lannisters?" Ramsay remarked, moving into Robb's path. Robb stood slightly taller than him.

"How can I call myself king if I can't defend my own castle? How can I ask men to follow me if I can't--"

There was desperation in him now. Ramsay lay a hand on his shoulder, and kept his voice soft and smooth. His father always said a man could do more without raising his voice.

"But you are a king," he soothed. He paused a moment. "That means you don't have to do everything yourself...."

"Let me go and talk to him," urged Lady Catelyn. Ramsay was growing tired of her constant intrusions whenever he grew close to Robb.

"There will be no talk, he will die for this," said Robb. Catleyn's face was still knit with worry.

"Theon holds the castle with a handful of men. Let me send word to my father at the Dreadfort," Ramsay continued. "He can raise a few hundred men and your castle will be yours again by the new moon."

Robb nodded along as Ramsay spoke and even Lady Catelyn seemed to take the offer seriously.

"You're about to make fast work of the Lannisters, and you need to remember your sisters' well being. I wouldn't dare imagine what they'd do to them if they thought they were losing. My father can handle the kraken whore and his men. He'd be honored to serve his king."


	2. Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Locke receives orders from Roose.

_"Ride for Winterfell. Offer any Ironborn who turn cloak free passage. A bag of silver to go with it if they give us Prince Theon."_

Roose gave the orders like a man asking for breakfast.

Locke rode back from Winterfell, his pockets lighter and horse heavier.


	3. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon is rescued from his captors by a familiar face.

Beneath the hood, time had lost meaning. Theon had fallen into a great abyss. His wrists and ankles ached constantly. His arms burned as they hung over his head. The slices along his ribs stung. Sometimes he heard fuzzy noise in the empty room like holding his ear to a shell. Sometimes he heard voices. He heard Robb Stark and Rory Cassel. He heard his sister, his father. Sometimes he even heard Eddard Stark. There were other times, the worst times, he simply heard the crackling sound of fire.

The lead man had a pointed beard and curled moustache. He talked like he knew Theon. On the first day, he called him spoiled and said he knew nothing of fear. Theon spat in his face then. He'd known fear every time Lord Eddard drew Ice from it's sheath.

When the man pulled the hood off, Theon now held his breath, bracing himself for pain. His pleas began reflexively as the man knelt down to reach the crank by his left ankle.

"Who are you? Please I'll tell you jus--

Searing pain cut off his questions, as the screw twisted through flesh and bone. New and old wounds ached alike, and his scream was almost an after thought to the sheer agony. With that Theon was thrust back into the dark.

"I'll be back for you,  sea cunt," the man snarled.

Theon's cries had changed to a low whimper and beneath them he could hear some sort of commotion outside the room.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" his captor murmured. There were clangs of battles and a sharp cry. Then silence. Theon held his breath again. It wasn't exactly silence, he could hear someone breathing. What was going on? Had Asha come for him?

There were foot steps approaching him. He had a strange sense that someone was almost hovering over him. Then there was a voice. It was soft and familiar.

"Prince Theon...."

He could not place it. The pressure on his wrists eased slightly but his bonds were not entirely undone.

"Yes. It's me. Please take off this hood. Let me see you. Let me down."

He hadn't meant to sound so desperate. His helper paused. His breath was slow and even.

The man pulled the hood from Theon's face. A man in a leather cap held a torch behind him and the light hurt his eyes. It took a moment of squinting before he could see who it was.

"Lord Bolton?" he murmured quietly. He had japed with Roose Bolton, teasing his odd ways as he and Robb were in their cups. He had never expected himself to be happy to see him or his strange eyes. Roose remained silent a moment longer, looking at Theon as if he were searching for something.

"Get him down. Now."

The bonds came off quickly and Theon fell to his knees. He was still too weak to stand, but the sheer relief of being off the cross was already an improvement.

"I'm here on behalf of his grace, Robb Stark. I'm to return you and his brother's to his side," Roose explained. Theon could barely process what he was saying. "Do you know where your father might be holding them?"

"...My father?" Theon stammered.

They were in the Iron Islands. Of course. That's how the man torturing him knew him. His father had done this wishing to toughen him likely. Why hadn't Asha stopped him? His head spun.

Theon squirmed as he tried to stand again, but the slightest bit of pressure on his ankle made him ache so much he shook.

"Bran and Rickon headed north..... I thought they'd have enough time... I never meant to...."

The consequences of the news began to settle. His father had likely tortured Bran and Rickon as well. How could he face Robb after this? He'd named himself Robb's brother....

"North?" Roose sighed.

"Aye. With the wildling and Hodor," Theon offered. "I did it so I wouldn't have to hurt them. I didn't want to hurt them--"

"You showed them mercy," Roose replied, nodding along to Theon's story. His hand settled on Theon's bare shoulder with a gentle squeeze.

Theon looked up at Lord Bolton, his eyes settling on the clasp of his cape. A skinless figure bound to a cross. Across the back of his cloak there were red gems, resembling drops of blood. At his side, a Valyrian steel knife, the hilt shaped like a man.

He had never thought much of him. Roose was plain faced except his eyes. He was odd in habits, but not remarkable. He had never seen the need for him to know the names and words of his captor's lords, but now Maester Luwin's voice came back to him.

_"Bolton. Our blades are sharp."_


	4. Wreckage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb's forces reach Harrenhal.

Harrenhal was not without it's charms. The bodies strewn about and the burned walls should have been harrowing, but Ramsay found the whole atmosphere rather exciting. When he became a lord he imagined himself standing among the ashes of some lesser man's castle, the dead lord's skin still fresh on his back.

Robb and his pretty nurse were speaking to some old man with a spike through his gut. Lord Karstark looked on. The old man had been bitter since Robb refused to kill the Kingslayer. Ramsay hadn't gotten the chance to speak to Jaime Lannister more personally, but he was a quick study, a term Ramsay heard his father use, dressed in finery and fast to drop his father's name.

One of his father's men kicked at a severed head, while the man's dog chewed at the body. When Robb told him he'd be staying here with Lord Karstark it almost felt like coming into his rightful place.


	5. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon finds himself alone with Roose Bolton.

Theon wasn't sure when or how he slept. The distinction between unconsciousness and sleep had become blurred these days. When his eyes fluttered open, he could see Roose Bolton sitting in silence and observing him.

His slender shape blended into the dark, but the hint of his eyes remained. A pale hand curled around a wooden mug to his left. His mouth ticked before he spoke.

"You must be thirsty. I've brought you some water," he said gently. Theon groaned and nodded, leaning forward. His throat was dry to the point of pain. He doubted Roose would poison him now.

He rose, bringing the cup with him. Roose's hand slid under Theon's chin, holding him up slightly as he brought the cup to his lips. Theon's thirst took over. He gulped eagerly at it, water running down his lips and chin. It felt cool as it ran down his throat and skin. When he finished it, he licked hips lips, trying to gather as much as he possible. Who knew when such a thing would come again?

Roose hummed and tilted his head back briefly as Theon swallowed. When their eyes met again the excitement of relief had faded and Theon remembered what he had been through. The long cuts down his torso still stung. Roose said nothing, and continued to stare at him, his pale eyes flicking down over the previous slices cut into his chest. His fingertips trailed down the curve of Theon's throat then over his collarbone before he pulled it away. Theon broke the silence

"..... Not again. Please don't start it again," Theon begged. "I'll tell you whatever you want."

Roose sighed and placed the mug down, his other hand resting on his knife.

"You've already told me all there is, Prince Theon. I'm afraid your father was right, the Stark's have softened you," he replied. A knot settled in Theon's stomach. Roose's eyes settled on his bare belly while his thumb toyed with the hilt of his blade.

"His grace especially. You had such a fondness for him," Roose continued. "... Before you betrayed him at least...."

Theon sagged at Roose's words.

"I told him about Bran and Rickon, but he said I ought to let you rot. He refused to have you back before him even."

Theon let out a low whimper. If he could see Robb, perhaps he could explain what happened. He was lost. He thought his father would listen, would grant him a home, but Robb was his home, or at least the closest thing to a home he had.

Roose drew his blade, first just placing the flat of it along Theon's side. It was cold, and the sting of it was eminent. Roose began his cut just below his ribs, slowly working it down over his stomach. Then again, drawing another long but shallow line down Theon's stomach. They were meant to hurt instead of damage, and hurt they did.

They were the first of many.


	6. Rats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramsay and the Karstark's are in charge of Harrenhal.

Lord Frey had been a bastard. His offspring were faster to take to Ramsay's side as such. Aenys Frey and Ramsay had discussed methods for making men talk, should the hunt for Jaime Lannister turn out successfully. Lord Karstark offered little, except for demanding rights to the man's death.

"Have you ever seen a rat chew through a man?" Ramsay asked the Frey. The two of them were sharing mead in their council meeting while Lord Karstark scowled. Lord Karstark's serving boy refilled Ramsay's cup. "That'll have the Kingslayer begging in no time!"

"We have to find the son of a whore, before we can gut him," Lord Karstark snapped. Both their and Robb's forces had been on watch since his escape. Ramsay had taken initiative with asking the local small folk. It was bloody work but it had to be done.

"I'm the best hunter the North has. I'll find him and put an arrow through his leg before he draws his sword," he hummed. He elbowed the old man sitting to his left. "I'm sure the old man could keep him alive through it."

The old man wasn't a maester the way Ramsay wasn't a lord. He had all the background of one, but just not the proper title.

"I think I might even fancy a hunt myself after this meeting," Aenys remarked.

"Have you ever taken down a wolf, Lord Karstark? A challenge for sure, but they've the softest pelts," Ramsay replied, his eyes rocking with the old man's. The room stilled, and Lord Karstark's face flickered with acknowledgement.

"There's a first time for everything, isn't there?"


	7. Unreliable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon is offered a way out of the dungeons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a chapter that happens after this in my head as I fell asleep so I stole from that. Enjoy!

Every morning Theon is brought a few crusts of bread, a sparing piece of meat, and a bit of water by an ugly man with no tongue. He's no longer kept on the saltire, but the long hours in darkness leave him alone with his thoughts. The first time he was fed, he begged the man to be let out-- offered him gold, women, and all the mead he could ever want. Instead the man let out a wheezy amused noise, and Theon realized he had no tongue. 

The man always ignores Theon, but perhaps it's better that way. Before sleep his mind wanders, he imagines vanishing into the bricks of the castle, happy to be forgotten to the pages of history. He'd rather be no one, than remembered for his mistakes.

He wakes to the noise of someone approaching. This morning is different. He has grown adjusted to the tongueless man's steps. He scurries back to the edge of his cell, afraid of what the change means. Perhaps Robb has finally come for him, here to behead Theon himself as Roose promised.

Lord Bolton had stared through him as he delivered the news.

_"I ought to thank you, Greyjoy. Robb Stark will send your father your head in a box, and for my part in it, my bastard will be named my rightful son. Such a sad state for a father to be left in. How does a man breathe with no heir?"_

 

That was the last time they spoke.

A shaft of light precedes his Lord's entrance. Roose Bolton looks down at Theon like a man surveying a toothless old hound. 

"Are you hungry? You look a mess, and your silks have seen better days," Roose notes. He had dressed Theon as a prince again before leaving him to rot.

Theon nods. His throat is parched, and he's fed little more than table scraps. For Lord Bolton himself to come there surely must be something he wants though.

Roose pauses, acknowledging Theon's silence, then continues speaking.

"I'm sure you grow weary of this dungeon as well. I would keep you here till his arrival, but our King, Robb, wishes to judge you himself."

This time Robb's name only inspires numbness. At least he could apologize, as meaningless as it might be.

"Imagine his dismay at finding you a corpse," Roose sighs.

"--I? I thought you had no intention to kill me?" Theon croaks. Death does not frighten him, but he fears the hells he'd see without making his peace.

"I am not the only man with a sword in this castle," Roose explains. His voice drops and he steps closer to Theon. He is dressed in dark leathers, bloody hands clasping his belt. Theon has never seen him unarmored.

"You will be safe, but you must obey me. Do we have an arrangement?"

Roose extends his hand. When Theon takes it, it is cold, but not without a pulse.


End file.
